


Driven

by misbegotten



Category: X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, M/M, PWP, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-29 20:21:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15736674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misbegotten/pseuds/misbegotten
Summary: Erik meets Charles' car, Charles meets Erik, Erik meets Charles' bed.





	Driven

**Author's Note:**

> From the Tumblr prompt: “You were chased by the cops, got in my car and just yelled ‘Drive!’"

Traffic is light, which is just as well because a tall man chooses that moment to lurch into the street. It's by the grace of God that Charles doesn't hit him. Rather, the man hits Charles. Or, at least, Charles' car. There is a solid "thunk" and then the car just stops, though Charles has not yet applied his foot to the brake. 

The man scrabbles at the side of the car and then the car door unlocks without Charles' assistance. The door is open before Charles can blink, and the stranger is climbing into the vehicle.

"Drive!" he urges Charles.

It's as if this man is the telepath rather than Charles. Charles is immediately overtaken with an urge to help. He hits the accelerator. In the rearview mirror, Charles spies a pair of police officers chasing futilely in their wake. He concentrates for a moment, sending back a psychic tendril to do his bidding.

"Thanks," the man mutters, casting his glance behind them. Charles shoots him a look, taking in the sharp but handsome features. There's a slight accent that Charles can't place. Something vaguely well-traveled and European.

Charles could peek, of course. He could open the man's thoughts with the slightest of efforts. But when was the last time that he was truly placed in a surprising situation? When was the last time that he had an _adventure_?

"Not a problem," Charles says cheerfully. "Are you on the run? I'm Charles, by the way."

The man gathers himself and gives Charles a surprised smile. "I suppose I am," he says. He extends a hand, and Charles grasps it briefly before returning his attention to the road. "I'm Erik," the man continues.

"So," Charles muses aloud. "Where should we go?"

"Any place far away from here," Erik says emphatically, and Charles chuckles.

His new friend -- Erik -- is a blank page, an open book. Charles can't wait to discover the next chapter. 

*

Charles ends up taking him home. There's no chance that the police got his license plate number thanks to his own psychic intervention at the scene erasing it from their minds. But Erik doesn't need to know the extent of Charles' powers, now does he?

"Come in," Charles urges Erik, who is lurking on the threshold of the kitchen, having followed Charles from the garage and into the house like a docile cat. No, more like a docile tiger. Erik is all contained energy and leonine grace.

Drat, Charles is mixing his metaphors. Well, to be honest, Erik is just stunningly handsome. The awareness that a captivating -- and possibly dangerous -- stranger is coming into his house and helping him take down the teapot and cups sends a curious thrill down his spine. New adventures, Charles reminds himself, can be hazardous. But as Erik gently places a teacup on the table, Charles feels rather safe.

If need be, of course, Charles can protect himself. But perhaps he's done that for too long. Perhaps that's why he is leaping at the chance to experience a new person without the benefit of his telepathy.

"Do you have a preference?" Charles asks, indicating to a small stack of tins containing tea leaves. Their contents are clearly marked, and Erik ponders them a moment before tapping the Irish Breakfast. Charles makes a pleased sound -- it's a robust flavor and seems suitable for the occasion somehow -- and fills the kettle with water.

The tea is steeping by the time Erik visibly unwinds. The fact that the police have not shown up on the doorstep may have reassured him. The mere example of Charles' easy acceptance of the improbable situation might also have relaxed Erik. Whatever the cause, Erik actually seems untroubled as Charles pours the tea.

"Do you want to tell me about it?" Charles asks, gently.

Erik's lips quirk. "No," he says simply.

"Ah," Charles replies. "Very well." He sips the tea and considers his next move. "I don't suppose you fancy a shag, then?"

Erik's eyebrows lift.

Charles waits. He can't help but feel the wave of surprise that drifts off of Erik's thoughts. And then, the sheer spike of lust.

Charles is not vain, but he knows he's good looking. He's presentable, clean, well-groomed, and athletic enough that he has the subtle air of physicality that makes him appealing to members of both sexes.

It has, however, been a long enough time since he bedded someone that he finds himself... not detached... from the current situation. He does, he finds, really want Erik to say yes.

Erik puts down his tea and rises, crossing the table to come to Charles' side. He leans down and cups Charles' chin in his hand, tilting Charles' face up to meet him. Their lips touch.

It's gentle -- sharply at odds with the suddenly desperate pheromones threatening to swamp the room -- and inquisitive. Charles opens his mouth slightly and Erik's tongue slips in to taste Charles.

Charles shifts in his chair, aroused, and produces a sort of swallowed gasp as Erik pulls back. His senses are on overload. His cheek, where Erik's touch lingers for a moment, is flushed. Then Erik takes Charles' hand and twists his fingers with Charles'.

"Absolutely," Erik says.

It's like a thunderbolt inside the room. His head is shouting at him that perhaps a touch of caution might be warranted, but his groin is entirely enthusiastic.

"Right then," Charles says, his grip tightening on Erik's. "The bedroom is this way."

Charles' day has gone in an entirely surprising -- and stimulating -- direction. 

*

If Charles had seduction on his agenda that morning, he would have chosen something more adventurous than plain white boxer shorts. Maybe the blue ones that matched his eyes.

Not that Erik seems to care. Erik's hands are on his hips, "helping" Charles shed his trousers by sliding his legs between Charles'. He's pulling Charles' burgeoning erection against his own firm one. 

They'll both be lucky if they last, at this rate.

Charles kicks off his pants and works his hands under Erik's shirt. The taut muscles of Erik's stomach hitch at Charles' touch, and the ladder of his ribs is inviting as Charles skates his fingertips upwards. He growls a little as he gets caught in Erik's shirt, and Erik lets go of Charles' hips in order to strip it off. He tugs at Charles' shirt then, too, and Charles has to give up his exploration of the pale skin on Erik's chest long enough to rid himself of the fabric.

Shoes and socks were shed as soon as they hit the room. Charles is down to just boxers, while Erik has him at a slight disadvantage since he still has his pants on. The pants that are tenting invitingly at the crotch.

Charles moans a little at that, and Erik goes still for a second before twisting, sweeping his leg underneath Charles' to tumble them both to the mattress. Charles lets out a small "oof" as they hit the bed, but the sound is greedily swallowed by Erik's lips on his. 

Erik tastes like pure desire. 

Erik's not a talker, but the curious silence -- other than the harsh panting they're both producing -- is a refreshing change for Charles, who in his younger days had sometimes felt overwhelmed by all the mental chaos of his bed companions. His control is much more of a fine-edged tool these days. He can stay out of his sexual partner's head, if he chooses. And right now he chooses to be utterly in the dark, taking his cues instead from the way Erik breathes him in, seems to relish Charles' touch at the dusky skin of his collarbone, the way Erik lets his thighs fall open invitingly.

Charles is the first to touch _there_. He undoes Erik's flies and works his hand into Erik's underwear to feel the firm shape of the erection that has his full attention. Erik lets out a small exhalation, then a full body shudder, and Charles rubs his thumb over the tip to collect the precome there. It smoothes his way down Erik's length, and Erik mutters something that sounds vaguely Germanic when Charles grasps the base and then jacks his hand up all the way.

"Too many clothes," Erik says, finally. His hands flutter at Charles' shoulders as Charles shoots him a filthy grin and inches down the mattress. Charles tugs at Erik's pants and pulls down both trousers and underwear just enough that Erik's cock can bob freely in the air. Then, "God," Erik says, making it sound like something unholy, when Charles licks the tip and takes Erik fully into his mouth.

Did Charles think that Erik was not a talker? Erik has a _mouth_ on him. Cursing, urging Charles onwards as Charles sucks his cock. Charles wraps his fingers around the base of Erik's erection and then follows the sticky path of his lips up and down, and Erik bucks off the mattress, nearly choking Charles. Charles blinks away the sting of tears when he's surprised the first time, then just rolls with it, hanging on as Erik writhes and pants beneath him.

"Charles," Erik says urgently, running a hand through Charles' hair and tugging. "Charles, I'm going to come if you don't stop."

Charles lifts his head, meets stormy eyes with his own piercing blue ones. "Who said anything about stopping?" He grins cheekily, then hollows his lips and sucks Erik's brain out through his cock. 

By the time Erik has stopped clutching the sheets beneath them, Charles' own erection is baying for attention. He takes the time, though, to pull off the remainder of Erik's clothes -- now hopelessly mussed from their activity -- and drop them over the side of the bed.

Erik is absolutely gorgeous. Long and lean, angles and muscle playing easily under Charles' fingers. Erik does that full body shudder again, then reaches for Charles' boxers. "May I?" he asks, though there's a hint of determination in his tone as though Charles damned well better say yes.

"Quid pro quo?" Charles teases, allowing Erik to pull off the constraining cloth.

Erik's smile -- he's all teeth, Charles thinks with fascination, and wants to lick into his mouth -- is a little treacherous. "I seek to learn and then exceed," he corrects Charles.

"Oh, by all means then," Charles says. And willingly lays himself open to Erik's demonstration of technique.

The man has excellent technique, as it turns out.

*

Several rounds of enthusiastic and increasingly messy sex later, and Charles is spent. Literally, figuratively, what have you. He lets his head fall back on the mattress in exhaustion, then struggles to move his limbs in order to curl up to Erik's lithe form next to him.

"You," he tells Erik, "are incredible. Feel free to ride me anytime." At Erik's barked out sound of amusement, Charles corrects, "Get a ride from me, I mean." He's a little flustered and a lot worn out. Erik is certainly athletic. And has extracted every ounce of pleasure out of Charles that he could derive, Charles thinks with satisfaction.

Erik combs a hand through Charles' hair and then lets the hand fall on Charles' neck, pulling him up for a tender kiss.

"You're not bad in the driver's seat," he allows, as if granting Charles a great boon.

Charles yawns widely and rolls, wrapping his arms around Erik and settling against his chest. "Thank you," he says. In his contentment, his control slips just a bit, and he projects a fraction of the sweet exhaustion he's feeling onto Erik.

Erik gives a little jolt -- perhaps of surprise -- but doesn't say anything aloud. He lets his hands fall across Charles' back, pressing Charles more closely to him.

Maybe it's Charles' telepathic suggestion. Maybe it's in equal measure Erik's own tiredness. But together, they sleep.

*

Charles dreams of sweet things, but wakes sticky and uncomfortable. Erik's eyes are closed, so Charles peels himself away from Erik with reluctance. He's pleasantly sore, muscles slowly coaxing themselves back into some semblance of order after a thorough workout. The en-suite bathroom is a godsend, though, and he tidies himself by splashing water on his face and chest after using the facilities. A towel puts everything back in shape from his improvised sponge bath. He takes a moment to gulp down a glass of water from the sink and, his mood much improved, sticks his head out of the bathroom door.

To find Erik scouring the floor for the remainder of his clothes. He's physical perfection in nothing but his underwear and loosely belted pants, just scooping up his shirt with one hand. Charles sighs, a little wistfully. "You going then?" he asks lightly.

Erik has the ability to look both dignified and sheepish at the same time. "I thought so, yes," he says to Charles. He meets Charles' eyes fully, though. Charles sees no regret there. Just a bit of awkwardness.

"Will I see you again?" Charles finds himself asking. "Once you've extricated yourself from whatever predicament with the law you might have?"

Erik grins at that. "You won't find me behind bars, that's certain." He pulls his shirt over his head, and quickly makes himself presentable by running his fingers through his hair to settle wayward strands. "I certainly think we will meet again."

Charles returns to the bed and settles down on the mattress. "Don't steal my car," he says as he arranges the blankets over his bare form. "But help yourself to food or anything else you might need."

"Thank you," Erik says politely. If he had a cap, he would probably have doffed it. "I will not trouble you for anything else."

"Oh," Charles says pointedly. "It's no _trouble_." The man was sneaking out of Charles' bedroom, after all. Charles feels justified in the slightest bit of pique. "No more trouble than you are used to, I expect."

Erik hesitates at that, then strides over to the bed and curls his fingers behind Charles' head. "I at least owe you a goodbye kiss," he says, and proceeds to deliver one with emphasis and precision.

Charles sighs. Strangers in the night is all well and good, but Erik is damned near... well, maybe a craving that Charles will not be able to shake, at least. Not irreplaceable. Surely not that. But someone that Charles would like to get to know better.

 _Don't_ , he reminds himself when the temptation to just read Erik's thoughts is at its highest, as Erik draws back from the kiss. Those storm-blue eyes meet his, and there's a kind of hopefulness there that Charles almost can't bear.

"At least," Charles agrees, chasing the previous thought about what Erik owes him. Which is precisely nothing. "Safe travels, my friend."

Erik smiles, picks up his socks and shoes from the floor, and disappears out the door.

Charles listens to the sound of the footfalls dying away, and closes his eyes.

*

When he wakes again, Charles is full of determination. He's been in seclusion in this enormous house too long. He's been wallowing, there's no denying it. The fact that he'd picked up a stranger and had unrelentingly glorious sex with him has hit home the fact he is floundering, at best. He'd returned to Westchester after a fierce fight with Raven about their respective mutant abilities, licking his wounds in seclusion and withdrawal. Raven -- beautiful Raven -- had called herself an unwanted _thing_ , a freak of nature. Charles had been unable to prove to her that she is as beautiful in her natural blue form as she is in the amiable blonde guise that she habitually adopts in company.

Raven has undergone far worse treatment at the hands of non-mutants than Charles ever had, of course. Before they'd met as children, Raven had lived on the streets. Her mutation, which allowed her to take on any other person's form, had shielded her from the worst atrocities that the "normal" public had to offer to those not of their kind. But her sense of self had been badly shattered over the years, and after a particularly bad run-in with "normals", she'd come running back to her older brother for succor. 

He'd been able to provide little. They'd fought fiercely, bitterly, and hence his removal of himself back to the home at Westchester to regroup.

He'd planned to open a school, once. A place where mutant children could come to find themselves, to discover how to use and embrace their powers. A place where he could surround himself with peers with whom he could teach and explore. A place where even "normals" would be welcome, in brotherhood with mutants. But this cold house has brought him nothing but a feeling of discouragement and ill will, echoing Raven's derision at the prospect of his school. As if the old place was haunted by the failures of his past self. Of the childhood he'd left behind, and the dreams that he'd lost along the way.

Until Erik, that is. 

He'd guessed that Erik's power is something to do with metal. The fact that his car wouldn't move after Erik hit it. Erik's ability to open the car door locks manually when they met. But Erik had not said "I'm a mutant," and Charles had not pushed his own powers on Erik. Not intentionally, anyway. 

But here, on the bed which they'd rechristened in the name of simple acceptance as creatures that could _connect_ on a level that didn't need explaining or excuses... Charles feels as if the piece of himself that had been missing since he'd returned to Westchester has been slotted back into place.

I can do it, Charles thinks as he rises from the bed and begins pulling on clothes. I can make this dream a reality.

Maybe it is the heady rush of _not_ using his powers and still finding another mutant with whom he felt an instant connection that is propelling him now. But that's enough to start with, he thinks with renewed determination. It's enough to go forward, the little push that he needed.

The dim clang of the doorbell disturbs his thoughts. He wonders, as he rights his clothes and pads down the hall barefoot, if the police have actually managed to track him down after all. But that is nonsense. Charles is sure of his ability to wipe from the police officers' minds the memory of their merry departure from the scene of whatever had been Erik's crime.

He senses one person at the door. One person only. And, as he lets his thoughts brush forward to encompass the figure, his pace quickens.

Erik is standing at his front door when Charles flings it open, his finger hesitating over the doorbell to ring for a second time.

"Erik," Charles greets him, delighted. "Come in."

Erik rubs a hand on the back of his neck. "I think perhaps we should talk first," Erik says. 

Charles deflates somewhat. There's some sort of dread in the back of Erik's head, a looming _thing_ that Erik doesn’t want to discuss and Charles doesn’t have the heart to dissect with his telepathy.

"What is it?" Charles asks, leaning against the doorframe.

"I thought I should introduce myself. My name is Erik Lehnsherr." Erik extends his hand formally, and Charles finds himself taking it with some degree of amusement. They shake, but Erik does not release Charles' hand.

"Raven sent me," Erik continues. He grips Charles' hand more tightly as Charles prepares to withdraw. "I think I was meant to be a peace offering?"

Charles tilts his head in confusion.

"We're old friends, Raven and I. She said you wanted to start a school. A school for mutants. She thought that perhaps I could help. I didn't realize who you were until-- well, after."

Charles lets his fingers curl around Erik's, invitingly. "I think you better come in," he says, and leads Erik down the passageway back to the kitchen. Where their cold tea things are still standing from the day before.

"I've had a bit of trouble with the authorities," Erik continues carefully. "But Raven seemed to think that you could... make that go away."

Charles smiles, but it's tightlipped. Despite his manipulation of the police officers before, Charles doesn't actually _like_ altering people's perceptions. It's a terrible nuisance when he is faced with someone whom he has already met before, for example, to remember to pretend that they're somebody unfamiliar. "Go on," he says, not making glad-handed promises to hold up Raven's end of whatever bargain she might have made with Erik.

"I'm really quite a talented mutant," Erik continues. As the slightest bit of proof, the kettle drifts from its perch on the stove and floats over to the sink. The metal arm of the faucet moves, water pours out and fills the kettle neatly. Then the kettle returns to the stove. "And I'd like the chance to work with you."

"With me?" Charles asks, surprised.

"You," Erik says firmly. "Raven told me quite a bit about you. And then, last night as you were drifting off to sleep -- that sense of contentment that you projected." Erik rubs a hand over his face. "I haven't felt that peaceful, that _good_ in years. I've spent too much time hiding. I want to do more." He looks up at Charles, something tentative in his eyes. "I want more."

Charles meets his gaze evenly. "You want to stay here and help me build a school?"

"I want to stay with _you_ ," Erik emphasizes. He taps his head meaningfully. "Read me."

Charles hesitates for only a moment before allowing himself to enter Erik's thoughts.

Continuing lust.

Wonder.

Admiration for the man that Raven described in such wistful terms over long nights spent huddled in conference and planning, in hiding and trouble.

Hope.

Oh, it is the _hope_ that Charles sees most clearly.

"And," he says, when he can draw a shaky breath, having disentangled himself from Erik's mind, "you don't mind our... unconventional meeting?"

Erik smiles. All teeth. "I want to get to know you better. More," he quirks his lips, "thoroughly."

"You were pretty thorough last night," Charles laughs.

"So were you," Erik counters.

Charles goes to the stove and flicks on the pilot light, letting the small blue flame begin to warm the kettle. "I'd be happy to have you as a teacher here, Erik."

"--Just as a teacher?" Erik asks.

Charles pulls out two fresh teacups. "And whatever else you're willing to offer," he says. "I wouldn't want to take advantage of my only employee."

"Only one so far," Erik says. "And I was thinking of myself as more of a... partner."

Charles draws Erik down into a chair, sitting down next to him. "We can discuss our terms," he says, twining his fingers through Erik's. "Shall we call it the Xavier-Lehnsherr Institute, then?"

Erik laughs, pleased and lewdly predatory thoughts drifting effortlessly against Charles' mind. "My name is probably not the best branding you could have. Let's stick with the Xavier Institute."

Charles squeezes Erik's hand. "It's a deal."

"And Charles?"

Charles tears himself away from poking at the beginnings of a mental connection with Erik, the tendrils that he'd been carefully exploring flaring slightly as Erik _pushes_ a feeling of possessiveness across their connection. "Let's not 'interview' the other teachers in the same way, okay?"

Charles laughs, but Erik looks at him fiercely. Tenderly, too. But there's a definite spark of something unyielding in his thoughts. "I don't do sharing with others well," Erik says.

Charles sends a spike of pleased anticipation to Erik, and Erik's expression softens considerably. "We'll stick to interview questions, maybe," Charles replies with amusement.

"Good," Erik says. And bends his head down to claim a kiss.


End file.
